Dismal Attempts
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: Hakoda knew deep down that he was never meant to raise two little children alone. Oneshot. COMPLETE.


Disclaimer: Avatar: The Last Airbender belongs to Bryke and Nickelodeon, not me.

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"My hand's falling off! My hand's falling off!"

Katara nearly dropped the clay pot on the kitchen floor. "Sokka, what's the matter with you?" she demanded.

Sokka tore into the house, clutching his right wrist. "My hand's gonna fall off," he bellowed.

"Lemme see," Katara said. She grabbed his hand and then dropped it with a loud squeal. "What did you do?"

"It was a fishhook," Sokka panted. "I was trying to cast the line when…when it got _stuck_."

Katara forced herself to look at his hand. "Then why are there _two _fishhooks in your thumb?" she asked.

"I was trying to get the first one out," he said. He wiped his damp, pale forehead with the back of his forearm. "Get 'em out."

"How?" she asked.

"I don't know, just get 'em out!" Sokka insisted.

Katara tugged half-heartedly at the sharp metal hooks. Sokka winced; the skin around the wound whitened and pulsed blood. She pushed back the sudden pop of nausea. "I think I'm going to get Dad," she said.

"That…might be…a good idea," Sokka said.

Katara dropped his hand and ran out of the house. The fresh cold air hit her in the face, shocking the sick feeling from her stomach and the dizziness from her head. She ran as fast as she could towards the harbor. "Dad!" she shouted, scrambling over the snowbanks. "Dad!"

She could see the prow of his boat rising over the shoreline. Hakoda stood on the deck, hammering a plank into the floor. He looked up and shouldered his hammer. "Katara?"

"Daddy!" she shouted.

Hakoda dropped the hammer and held out his arms. Katara clambered up the to the deck. "What's wrong, darling?" he said. He cupped her face in his hands and checked her for injuries. "Are you all right? Are you sick? Are you hurt? Where's Sokka?" She could only nod, suddenly choked by tears. Hakoda grabbed her elbows. "Where's your brother?"

"Daddy, ow," she protested.

Hakoda let go. "Is he all right?" he demanded.

"He got two fishhooks stuck in his thumb," Katara said. "And I can't get them out."

Hakoda took her hand. "I'll take care of it," he said. Katara ran to keep up with her father's long strides. His big rough hand closed over hers, almost rough in his fervor. Katara's heart pounded.

Hakoda threw the front door open. Sokka knelt in the middle of the floor, clutching his hand to his chest. With a quick motion Hakoda pulled him into a tight hug. "It's all right, Sokka," he said. "You're going to be all right."

Sokka's face was white and blood tracked over his arm. "I don't feel good," he said.

"I'll take care of it," Hakoda said. "Let me see. Open you hand, Sokka." Reluctantly Sokka unfolded his fingers. Katara peeked over Hakoda's shoulder. The metal tips stuck a full inch out of his thumb.

"Can you get it out, Daddy?" Katara said.

"Katara," Hakoda said slowly. "Go and get some water, some bandages, and your sewing kit."

"But-"

"Don't argue," he said, keeping his voice calm. "Get them and bring them right back." She hesitated, stepping back slowly. "Go, Katara."

She ran. She scrambled for the sewing kit and the bandages, then poured water into a shallow bowl. Despite her careful efforts, it splashed and slopped onto the floor. "I have it, Daddy," she said.

Hakoda didn't look up as he pressed his big, rough thumb against his son's small one. "Thank you," he said. He let go and took out a narrow knife.

"What are you going to do?" Sokka quavered.

Hakoda slowly unsheathed the knife. "Katara," he said "Sit behind Sokka."

"Why?"

"Just sit behind your brother."

Katara obeyed. Hakoda pressed the hilt of the knife against the hook and pressed his thumb on the other side. With a quick twist he bent the hook straight, tugging at the skin of Sokka's thumb. Sokka lurched forward with a stifled yelp. Instinctively Katara wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him back.

Hakoda seemed unaffected by Sokka's reaction. Calmly he straightened the other hook, then lightly wriggled the narrow metal pieces. "This will hurt," he said quietly.

"How much?" Sokka panted.

Hakoda touched the tip of the knife blade against one of the hooks, then quickly cut down. Sokka let out a strangled scream. Katara tightened her arms around his waist. Again Hakoda pulled the knife down. Sokka fell back against her shoulder, the tears clustering in his eyes beginning to fall down his cheeks.

Now that there was enough room for the Hakoda yanked out the straightened hooks, slippery with blood. He dipped a cloth in water and held it tightly against Sokka's thumb. "Not much longer," he murmured. "Katara, hold this."

Katara reached around Sokka and held the cloth against his thumb. Blood seeped through the fabric, staining the cloth. Hakoda opened the sewing kit and threaded a narrow bone needle with black thread. "Daddy, what are you going to do?" Katara said. "You can't sew."

Without replying, Hakoda took the cloth away and pulled the needle through Sokka's thumb, drawing the thread tight. Sokka choked, grabbing his wrist with his free hand. Katara looked away and buried his face in the crook of Sokka's neck. Hakoda steadily drew the needle through the skin. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he didn't cry out loud.

"I'm done," Hakoka said. He cut the thread and set the needle down. Sokka curled into Katara's lap, breathing hard, his tears soaking into her shoulder. Hakoda squeezed his shoulder. "You were brave." He bent over and kissed the top of his head, then Katara's forehead. "I have to go back to the boat. I'll be back tonight. Take care of your brother, Katara."

Katara stroked Sokka's hair lightly. Her hands trembled. Sokka's hand lay limply on his knee, the crooked black lines harsh and ugly. She bowed her head over his.

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It was late when Hakoda came back to the house. Inside it was dark and quiet. He crept quietly down the hall to Sokka's room. The door was open and the bed empty. His heart pounded against his ribcage. He pulled open the door to Katara's little bedroom. She wasn't there either.

Hakoda yanked open the only remaining door- the one leading to his room. He sagged in relief against the doorway. Both of his children were snuggled under the covers of his bed. Sokka flopped on his back, his bandaged hand resting next to his head. Katara curled up beside him with her cheek pillowed on his elbow.

"Poor kids," he murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed and kicking off his boots. He reached over and smoothed Katara's hair away from her forehead.

_They don't deserve this_, he thought. _If Yonah was still alive…_

If Yonah was still alive, things would have been much different. Yonah would have sent Katara to get him, and then sent her to play outside so she could avoid the blood and the sight of her brother in pain. She would have held Sokka in her arms, smoothing his hair and murmuring soothing words in his ear to calm and distract him while the hooks were taken out. She would have drawn the needle carefully and delicately, avoiding any unnecessary pain. And when everything was done, she would have bent over backwards to take care of her son, because to her it didn't matter that he was eleven and thought of himself as a grown warrior- he was still her baby.

Hakoda dragged his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm so sorry."

He knew what they didn't know. That in a matter of weeks, he would be gone, taken away from them by the same people who took their mother away. And he could try as many dismal attempts as he could, but these children would never get a fair chance for all the love and attention they deserved.

Hakoda lay down beside Sokka and draped his arm over his two children. They both slept peacefully, completely unaware. "I'm sorry," was all he could say.

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Author's Notes:

I know their mother's name is Kya, but back before they released her name, I named her Yonah, and it just kind of stuck with me. I tend to create my own personal canon when I write. And Yonah is a Hebrew name that means "peace," and I thought it was fitting.

I know, I know. A Hebrew name. But it fit for me.

A lot of people are up in arms about the movie, saying that the kids in the film shouldn't be white. In a lot of other cases I agree with that. J.K. Rowling's rule that the actors in the Harry Potter films should be British was genius. But think about it, children.

_Where does it say in Avatar that they are Asian?_

There is no Asia. There is no China or Japan. There's no nothing. It is its own world. Now, if people were furious because they were casting a Water Tribe boy to play Zuko, man, I would lead that brigade. But nowhere in Avatar canon do they state that anyone is from any particular country. And Sokka and Katara are more Inuit than Asian anyway.

Besides, if they cast all Asian actors, where would they find a boy and a girl with brown hair and blue eyes? A girl with black hair and green eyes? A boy with gray eyes and…well, primarily no hair, but you get the pictures.

Aaaaand rant is over.

I wrote this story because I was wondering about what happened when Sokka got his fishhook scars. Then it turned emo. The end.


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